There Are Many Copies
by Kaynara
Summary: Athena and Helo try to make a life on Earth. There are always complications.


Title: There Are Many Copies

Author: Kaynara

Summary: Athena and Helo try to make a life on Earth. There are always complications.

Rating: R

---

One of me died today.

She was pregnant, and the baby came too early and too small. None of us could get to her in time, and in the end she bled out in a cornfield.

I've seen me die a hundred times. I'd like to say it doesn't get any easier, but that would be a lie. Most of the time, I don't even notice.

---

Hera is six years old today, and she talks in paragraphs and timelines: "First, we lived on a star, and the star flew all over the sky. One day, the star decided she was tired of flying and wanted to rest, and so she brought us to Earth. But, so we wouldn't miss her too much, the star promised she'd always shine …"

Hera loves to lie in the grass, arms and legs thrown wide, face open to the sun.

Helo calls: "You are gonna wrinkle up like a prune, Hera-Bear!"

Hera lies very still, listening for her father's footsteps. If you were just walking by, if you didn't know, you might think she hadn't heard him call. Or that she had heard and was being willfully naughty. But I can read my daughter's expressions better than anyone. I see the way her little girl lips twitch into a smile. She waits until Helo's within tickling range and then rolls away from, laughter shrieking from her mouth. She shoots to her feet, and he chases her, and they both grow bored with the game at the exact same moment. When they catch each other, it's both relief and revelation.

For Hera's birthday, Lee comes to visit. There's no cake, but he brings fuzzy red berries that stain her hands and mouth. Later, while Hera sleeps in Daddy's lap, the three adults sit talking. Lee seems older, and bone-tired, and when he leaves later I'm relieved.

That night Helo and I sleep with our fingers entwined.

--

In the evenings, when the work is done, Helo takes our little girl for walks, her tiny hand swallowed up in his larger one. I lag behind them, listening. Helo points out bugs and birds and flowers, answers every question with joy. He's the love of her life, and most of the time I think she's his.

I get it, I do. It's easier for them to trust each other, love the other fully and simply. They've seen too many of me for anything to be that simple.

They're building a village a few miles from us, nothing you'd call a town yet, but a gathering of cabins and people. It's a collective effort on behalf of the colonists—both Human and Cylon—and the native people. Helo is eager to see the progress.

"Ask Mommy if she wants to come, too," Helo instructs one morning. He sets Hera on her feet, and she trots over to the table where I'm working.

"Want to come with me and Daddy?" she asks.

My hands are slick with fish guts, and I have to bend to kiss her face. Smooth cheeks, sweet baby girl, my daughter.

"You guys have fun," I say. "I'm gonna finish up here."

"No way." Helo shakes his head. "We want Mommy with us. Don't we, Hera."

I deliberately look away from my daughter's face. I start to object once again, tell them to go on without me, but then Helo makes a growling sound and wraps me in his arms. His t-shirt winds up covered in fish slime, but he says he doesn't care.

There are six of me in the settlement. We pass one on the main drag into town. She's out running, hair flying, chest swelling as her heart pumps blood to her extremities. Her skin is damp, a light sheet of sweat slicking her face. She smiles at me and at Hera, and I smile back. I don't look at Helo to see if he turns to follow her progress down the road.

Two years ago, when Hera is four, I get a bad fever. On Galactica, I would have gone to sickbay for an injection of something and been back in my raptor by dinner. Here on Earth, we don't have those luxuries. Cottle, the kind old bear, has finally passed on; the nearest medic is more than a week's journey. Helo squeezes my hand in an effort to keep me present. He douses me with cold water and slick mud; no matter what, the fever continues to burn.

For days, Hera watches all of this with huge, somber eyes. I know she's frightened, but I can't summon the energy to reassure her. On the fifth day, one of me comes to our cabin early in the morning. She doesn't say anything, just stands in the doorway, hands propped on her hips, taking in the scene. We don't need words to come to an agreement. Beside me, Helo opens his mouth to protest, but I silence him with a jerk of my head.

Hera is playing quietly in the corner, and she looks up when the visiting Sharon calls out to her. Hera turns to me, and I nod—_go ahead_—and she trots over to the other me, and lets herself be picked up and comforted.

The other me brings Hera back late that night. The fever has finally broken, and I'm sitting up drinking water. Hera lingers in the doorway until I say, "Well, come here, baby girl!" She runs to the bed and snuggles into me.

The other me leaves without saying goodbye.

---

Hera likes the village, the sights and sounds. She trots ahead of us, unafraid. Sometimes I want to grab her hand and squeeze hard, tell her to stop, Stop, Hera. I make myself refrain. Run and fly, baby girl. That's what I want to teach my daughter.

At the market, we meet up with Brendan and Nicky, and Hera spends an hour teaching the little boy to play catch with a ball Helo made out of animal hide. When they go, Helo and I turn to each other, whisper, "Hot Dog" and laugh until our sides hurt. Brendan looks older now, less nugget and more man. Nicky adores him, and I can see it's mutual. I think of Galen, and the me who loved him first, last, forever. I remember making love to the Chief, but it never happened.

---

At home, Hera passes out early. Helo and I kiss both her cheeks and tuck her into bed. Her dark silken hair spins out over the pillow. I marvel at our little girl, crazy miracle.

I'm sitting on the bed braiding my hair when I feel the mattress dip behind me. Helo's hands, strong and familiar, land on my shoulders.

"Hey, wife." He noses against my throat; it's a cold night and his skin feels cool.

"Hello, husband."

Without words, he shifts closer. His hands find the hem of my tank and ease it up, his knuckles grazing my skin. I shiver; six years together, and he's still the sexiest man I ever met. His fingers fumble at the clasp of my bra, and I can't help it, I laugh.

"Need help there, baby?"

"No. Thanks," he says. He huffs against the nape of my neck, mock offended. "I got it."

"I know you do," I breathe as his fingers span to hold my breasts.

We lie naked-chest to naked-chest, kissing and touching. Breathing together in the almost dark. We take it slow, and it's a long while before his hand slides under the waist of my pants, fingers stretching and flexing.

"Karl," I cry out.

I press my hands on either side of his head, push my mouth against his. He moans. He's weak with need, a six foot two wriggling child in my arms.

"Gods, Sharon," he says, and just like that I'm back on Galactica.

I'm bound and bloodied. Helpless I watch my husband make love to a woman who is me in every way that can be measured or quantified. I can see him moving inside her. Inside me. Us.

I see her stealing my daughter, and I see her giving Hera back. When Boomer dies, I feel her pain like my own but I don't feel remorse.

Helo never said he was sorry. I'm glad for that. I probably would have slapped him if he had. She had my hair and my skin and my DNA and my frakking memories.

His hands are gliding over my limbs, taking me back to him and this moment.

"Athena." He cups my face in his hands, tilts my chin so I have to meet his gaze. "Athena, look at me," he says.

I do. I see love.


End file.
